etc.

This weekend we were supposed to pick up our Christmas decorations, all carefully tissued and boxed, resting on their warm, dry shelf in the mister’s parents’ basement. We also have a three-year old, unused, 7ft tree; unused because we bought it on a whim three years ago before we lived in an unusually low-ceilinged basement apartment which necessitated a three foot, sparsely-baubled tree (the cats love baubles and are not, interestingly enough, intimidated by a 3 ft tree). We didn’t pick up these Christmas accoutrements this weekend and I am, as a result, a bit discountenanced.

You see, I love Christmas. Prosaic, isn’t it? It’s become de rigeur to poo-poo the holidays, hasn’t it? All that commercialism, consumerism, wastefulness. Well, guess what, I try to live low on the food chain, consume as little as possible, and not fuel the corporate machine, and I still love Christmas. It isn’t about buying bigger and better things, and mowing down mums in toys stores for the last this-year’s-Elmo. It’s giving thoughtfully, wrapping lovingly, and spending time with the people who are important to you. It’s making mulled wine and apple cider, and forcing the cats to wear reindeer antlers. It’s fresh snow, pine cones, bright baubles and fir boughs. It’s long days, warm houses, and lots and lots of good books.

This week I am making pine and fir wreaths for the house. Next week, something else. Maybe baked goods. Maybe gifts. I’ll let you know, unapologetically.